05 February 2013

So, I was having lightning strike my brain sometime this morning
whilst on the toilet. This seems to happen quite a lot, thoughts
happening to me while I’m in the bathroom. I know, you can probably
understand having good ideas in the shower, after all, some people sing
in the shower, others talk to themselves. But, there is nothing funnier
that washing your face, lathering up all the soap and all that good jazz
and then all of a sudden SPLASH! The water strikes your face and a
brilliant idea is born! My genius, however, seems only to work while I
was take my morning dump.

As I said before, this seems to happen quite often. It’s like my
brain starts spinning as soon as the pressure is on. So, while most
people are playing bored games, reading the morning news on their phones, or just plain thinking, “why won’t this darn thing just vacate the premises” (but with certainly more colorful internal monologue) my crazy messed up mind was busy thinking, “how the heck to I write chapter 10 or Pocketful of Pain if I didn’t end in a cliffhanger.” This instant, of course, was when lightning struck my brain. And yes, it hurt.

This stroke of clever thinking was actually a culmination of a number
of things, but the main bulk of it came from an internal monologue I
was having on my Friday drive down to Provo where I was going to look
for a book store location for my usual ego (who is decidedly not
Scottish), Erika Bates. You’ll find that I do this a lot, have internal
monologues. My husband says that this is most of the reason why I’m a
good writer. See, while he’s busy thinking, ‘Oh that’s a pretty house,’ or ‘I hate the quality of this road,’ my mind is busy thinking, ‘Isn’t
it odd that that beautiful house is right next to that old Mexican Fish
Restaurant. I’d never want to live there because my days would be like:“She
walked upstairs, dropping her book bag at the foot of her rusted out
bed frame. The floorboards groaned in complaint as she plopped down on
the ancient mattress. It had been another long school day, exceptionally
long, the kind of long where one doesn’t want to come home to the smell
of overcooked, over-spiced fish from the Mexican restaurant next door.
In fact, what she really wanted was just a little piece, a little quiet,
and distinctly not-the-smell-of-fish. Yes, that’s what she wanted.” And
so on.’ I really could go on like that for some time and often do,
but I won’t bore you, seeing as how you’re probably wondering - at this
point - what all of this has to do with having an apostr-epiphony whilst sitting upon the crapper. Don’t worry, I’m getting to it.

ANYWHO! I was having one of these internal monologues whilst driving
to Provo from our little crummy apartment in Orem on the first of
February when a sudden feeling overwhelmed me. The day felt surprisingly
new. My monologue went a little something like this: “Today feels
strangely new. Like the kind of new one feels on the first day of
spring, or the first day of school, or the first time you go on a road
trip by yourself, or the first time you kiss a boy, or like on the day
before your wedding.” Again, I could go on for some time and it really did, but that’s the basis of it.

It was this internal monologue that came to mind this morning during
my little toilet episode. And, just as that last little bit of
inconvenience was being wiped from my embarrassingly large, white
behind, this monologue went a little something like this: “It all
feels new, like the first day of spring, like the day before your
wedding, or the day I was sent off on a train to Paris to train with
the…………..

“Wait a minute… I’ve never been on a train to Paris… That wasn’t my monologue. WHAT THE HECK IS ADRIANNA DOING IN MY HEAD??!”

It was then that the largest, and perhaps the most frustrating thing
for most of my readers (not to name names but, Drea Hatch), struck me
like that brilliant bolt of lightning.

It took me till this evening when I was in the car with my husband giving him a lecture not unlike this rant I’m currently on, side
comments and everything. Actually, it was probably more irritating for
him to listen to than it is for you to read simply based on the fact
that when my monologue is spoken aloud it is often auto-corrected with
incorrect dates, improper words and, more often than not, nonexistent
words I made up just for the heck of it. Given this, one must infer that
my husband is one of the most patient men in the world and that he will
probably be better suited to teaching my little boy about patience than
I will ever be… seeing as how the majority of the time when I’m
rambling like a mad woman making up nonsense words and auto-correcting
my incorrect dates like some sort of emotionally troubled computer
program, I prefer not to be interrupted. This little fact, me not liking
to be interrupted, is all the more infuriating when one realizes just
how ADD my husband is and just how often he interrupts me to point out
the most unusual things that usually get me going on an entirely
different rant. It’s usually several minutes later (hours to a man with
ADD) that I realize I’m off topic and must come back to the original
rant at which time my husband has completely forgotten exactly what it
is I was talking about in the first place. Do you see my predicament?

I was on one of these rants this afternoon, going off on exactly
everything I’ve just elaborated on in a great deal more detail and with a
worse vocabulary when the thought occurred to me again, this time in
the form of a well-placed insight from my husband. The thought was this:
“Well, if you ended the chapter like it was final, why don’t you just start the next chapter like it’s the next book?”

And so! I am left with one singularly logical thing. The Pocketful of
Pain series will be published in 6 novelas, reading much like a
mini-series plays out on TV. So, as soon as I finish editing the last 9
chapters of Pocketful of Pain, it will be available for print and
purchase.

01 February 2013

It's been a busy, crazy week - what with adjusting to my hubby working from home now... and stealing the compy... so I can't write! *sigh* Wish I had the PoP up. I wish I could have written it. It's a really good one and I hate ripping you off. I'll see what I can do about getting 10 and 11 up this week!

10 January 2013

“They came after my children,” she
told me. “They came into my home and took my children.”

“Why?” I asked, my heart in my
throat. “Why, for God's sake, would they take your children?”
This woman, with her well groomed appearance and prim posture, had no
signs of an abusive parent, or even a neglectful parent. Her
statement seemed mad, ludicrous, absurd. There was no logical reason
given this woman's appearance and overall manner that stated she was
unstable in any way. Her answer shocked me.

“Because I own a gun. A year ago, my
house was broken in to. We had an alarm system, they disabled it. We
had a dog, which they killed. They came into my room and killed my
husband right in front of me. The police caught them eventually, but
I saw fit to purchase a gun.”

“How, my dear woman, did you manage
to get a gun? With all the regulations, that task is almost
impossible.”

“My husband was a powerful man. He
had connections. It was legal, I assure you. All the papers were
signed, all the arrangements made. They put me on three registration
lists, I had to go through a rigorous psychiatric exam. They knew I
had a gun. It was small. I carried it in my purse to protect myself
and my children.”

“And they took your children? What
logical decision might have gone through their minds?”

“I taught my children how to protect
themselves. They didn't use my gun, we went out and got them
paintball guns, but I taught them how to shoot accurately.”

“Paintball isn't illegal. Many of my
friends take their kids to the paintball range.”

“I understand that. It's what my
oldest son did. That must be it.”

“Tell me about your oldest son.”

“He moved out of the house several
months before his father died. He wasn't there. I haven't seen him in
many many months.”

“And what did he do?”

“He illegally purchased a large
supply of assault weapons and formed a militia.”

“But militias are illegal.”

“I know that, you know that, but my
son... he followed the philosophy of his father. He believed in
that... that thing... that ancient and antiquated document that
they've long since amended into nonexistence – much like the
British royalty.”

“The Constitution?”

She eyed that particular spot on her
wrist. The one we all had. The one where they placed the tracking
device when we all turned eight. “You said it,” she whispered,
“not me. But yes, my husband and son believed in that thing.”

“And you still managed to get a gun?”

“I have never followed the beliefs of
my husband. Besides, that was included in the extensive tests when I
registered.”

01 January 2013

Alright. So, yes, I've deleted all (and I do mean ALL) my HBL content. And guess what, there's nothing you can do about it!!! XD muahahaha. No, seriously, it's not coming back. I have two months (ish) before this book is publish ready. So here come the edits!

I will put the first 5 chapters up for viewing as they get edited, but that's it, that's all! That and it's not going here. That's right, I'm getting a website put up sometime this month (hopefully).

Aaand on that note I'm getting my Kickstarter going again. Sorry for having to cancel it last time. I was getting flack and no support. I even got one sorry, no-account, crap hole, plonker saying that the project was a complete waist of time and he wouldn't even give it the light of day. Stupid bloody git.

OKAY! now that I'm done ranting I can move on to the really exciting news! (as if all this wasn't exciting enough) From her on out, every Tuesday night there will be a new chapter of Pocketful of Pain - that's right, that means tonight. I've had many requests concerning that book, so I'm making it my next project! It'll be so much easier now that my mind has settled and I've gotten a lot of random completely unrelated stories off my chest. *sigh* I'll have to put them as bonus content on my website once it's up for your fun and enjoyment.

But yes. Pocketful of Pain. Tuesday nights. Enjoyment.

Aaaaaand one more thing. I've been working on the cover for my book. Let's see if you notice the difference.